


Fine Lines or The Case Files of Detective von Bergliez

by indevan



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 18:16:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20912000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indevan/pseuds/indevan
Summary: Caspar very clearly had come here to tell him something (judging by the way he was sweating and short of breath implied that he ran up the stairs rather than take the elevator) so he would listen





	Fine Lines or The Case Files of Detective von Bergliez

Linhardt loved the setup of the campus library. It was six floors of bliss: books to cater whatever fancy took him on a particular day regardless if it pertained to his major or assignments. The way the library worked as well meant that the higher up you went, the more quiet was required. The sixth floor was a zone of pure silence so people could focus on their studies without being interrupted. Or, in Linhardt’s case, he could sneak a nap between books and not be disturbed.

Unless, of course, someone who cared little for library protocol barged onto the top floor. Because space was nothing. In a library, everyone could hear you scream.

“LINHARDT!”

A chorus of hissed shushes echoed through the floor, but that didn’t seem to deter Caspar, who ran over to where Linhardt was with all the subtlety of a rhinoceros. Linhardt had previously found the softest chair the sixth floor had to offer and so had to look up from where he was nestled to look at him. This would be, normally, the  _ only _ time Linhardt would ever have to look up to see his boyfriend. In keeping with the library’s rules, he put a finger to his lips.

Caspar pouted, visibly put out, but while he believed the library’s rules didn’t apply to him, he would follow them if Linhardt told him to. He followed Linhardt’s orders in the bedroom with ease but that was a different mindframe and time and place with safe words and toys. Outside of it, Caspar mostly listened to him because he wanted to. That was an aspect Linhardt hadn’t expected when they finally got together. Caspar actually listening to him.

Because of that, Linhardt removed himself from the confines of his squishy chair and gathered his books to place on the cart to be put back. Caspar very clearly had come here to tell him something (judging by the way he was sweating and short of breath implied that he ran up the stairs rather than take the elevator) so he would listen. He would listen, but not on the library’s sixth floor.

He took Caspar’s hand and led him to where the elevator was. Once they were inside, the veil of silence was lifted and he turns towards him.

“What is it?”

“Well. First of all. This.”

Caspar angled his body towards his and tugged on the sides of Linhardt’s bulky sweater to pull him down for a kiss. Many things didn’t change when they got together and so Linhardt was still taken off guard by displays of affection. Caspar was overly fond of them. He should have known, having seen him with Ashe the previous semester when they had been dating. Caspar was always holding hands with him and peppering his neck with little kisses. Linhardt  _ should _ have noticed, but he was too seized with jealousy he hadn’t quite understood at the time watching Caspar with someone else.

He moved into the kiss, letting his own hand drop to the feather short bits of Caspar’s hair, before breaking apart.

The elevator dinged, signaling that they were at the main floor. Linhardt looked at the glowing red one and the arrow that had flipped from down to up and wondered how he had been so into the kiss that he missed them descending five whole floors. It was almost sickening, he thought, just how much he was in love and how much he couldn’t get enough of Caspar. Almost.

“So what was so important that you had to ruin the sanctity of the sixth floor?” he asked as they walked by the circulation and reference desks.

The first floor was always the most crowded since it boasted a coffee shop and copy room. Several of their friends had taken turns having jobs at the café, each quitting when either a better job came around or their class schedule got too intense. Linhardt had chosen instead to work at the Einstein Bagels on campus for a brief three weeks until he got bored with it and quit. He would tell people that it was his pervasive lazy streak that kept him from working there but, truly, it was because he had had to work with Ashe. He liked him enough on his own but, at the time, he had been dealing with his burgeoning feelings for Caspar and coming into work and seeing both fresh and faded love bites on his neck was too much.

Jealousy had not been an emotion he was familiar with so when that green-eyed monster had reared its ugly head, he hadn’t known what to do. What to do turned out to, apparently, mean surrendering his right to free salmon cream cheese.

“How did you know I was there anyway?”

“Played the odds.” Caspar gave him a toothy grin. “It’s a Saturday and you weren’t in bed when I woke up.”

There were definite benefits to dating someone you had known since you were six. Well before they got together and even before Linhardt realized the cause of his jealousy, Caspar always knew him better than anyone.

It was warmer outside than it had been when Linhardt arrived at the library. Fall was in full swing, but the sun, bandaged with clouds, was a bit warm on his bulky, cable-knit sweater. Caspar, dressed in a flannel over a t-shirt with jeans, was completely unbothered. He let his fingers lace between Linhardt’s as they turned from the library in the vague direction of their house.

“So what actual reason did you have to hunt me down?”

It was after twelve but not too late. Usually Caspar didn’t come pull him out of his self-imposed exile until at least four when he grew concerned for his well being and if he was eating or not.

“Gossip.”

“Gossip?”

Linhardt wrinkled his nose. He didn’t care about gossip. Truly, neither did Caspar, so this was a bit surprising.

“Maybe that’s the wrong word but Bernie is seeing someone.”

“Bernie?”

“Stop repeating everything I say!”

Caspar gave him his version of a dirty look that lacked any sort of heat.

“Sorry. But Bernie? Are you sure?”

Alright, maybe he was a  _ little  _ nosy, but Bernadetta was Bernadetta. If it were up to her, she’d never leave the house. In the time since they all lived together in renovated Victorian a mere three blocks from campus, she had gotten over her agoraphobia enough to take classes that weren’t solely online and to venture out with them now and again to the club, but she still spent the majority of her time in her room.

“Thea brought it up. She said she’s been reading less miserable romantic poetry lately and writing poems in a fountain pen.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

Linhardt stopped so Caspar would before he barged into traffic. Between the two of them, Caspar was the one who would ignore the flashing orange hand and stride out into a crosswalk. Once he got into a fight with a man who wouldn’t stop and Linhardt had had to pull him back saying, “Cas, look what at his bumper sticker says. He’d already rather be bow-hunting and any further aggravation…”

“She’s rolling them up, tying them with black ribbon and using a wax seal.”

He still didn’t know how that meant she was seeing someone.

“I appreciate her commitment to aesthetic.”

“She’s leaving with the poems and returning without them,” he continued. “They’re going to someone.”

That was a bit more evidence and, if Linhardt were being honest, something to occupy his time. Their group had been without any major drama for some time. The last big news had been he and Caspar before they go together in the middle of summer, kissing in the hot tub at a rooftop party at Claude’s. Linhardt still remembered that, his hair wet and he was sweating because it was hot and the water was too hot and Caspar was so close. And he had looked at him, water droplets clumping his lashes, eyes pleading, mouth slightly open…

Linhardt shook his head to bring himself back to the present. The light changed and they walked across the street. The further they got from campus the less signals there were and so sometimes walking to their house was a perilous journey as cars believed stop signs were a mere suggestion. Saturdays weren’t as bad for traffic as they turned onto the “historic” brick streets that made a grid around the residential area.

“So what’s the plan? Spy on her?”

“No!” Caspar exclaimed and then looked askance. “Maybe, kinda. I dunno. I don’t want someone out there using Bernie.”

There it was. Caspar was actually concerned, not nosy. Everyone in their house felt a sort of protective urge over Bernadetta. She was someone who had been through a lot and everyone, even cold and judgmental Hubert, wanted to make sure that she never went through it again.

“Just because she’s seeing someone, that doesn’t mean they’re using her or treating her badly.”

They turned a corner onto the shaded, tree-lined street where their house was. Due to the age of this street, the trees were older and larger, making it slightly darker than the rest. Linhardt was thankful once more for his bulky sweater now that he was out of reach of the sun.

“I know that, but if I knew who the person was, I’d feel better, y’know?”

Linhardt turned to look at him. He was familiar with Caspar’s face, now more than ever. The chicken pox scar beneath his lower lip, the scar above his eyebrow from when he jumped too high off of a trampoline and got scratched by a branch. The cowlick that was in that same eyebrow that made it a bit wild on one side. The tiny smattering of freckles that sprinkled over his nose. So even though he was covered in the dappled shadow of tree leaves, he could see how sincere he was. His eyes seemed to shine with it.

“This isn’t just an excuse to spy, is it?”

Caspar shook his head. “Uh-uh.”

He had no choice but to relent. As much as Caspar did what he wanted, Linhardt returned it. If he wanted to find out the identity of Bernadetta’s mystery lover, then he would help him with it. Deep down, he knew it was her business and they didn’t have to delve into it, but he also was worried about if it was someone they knew to be bad news. Concern trumped logic in the end and he nodded.

“Alright, fine. But if she finds out and tells us to stop, we stop.”

Caspar nodded. “That’s fair. Hey.”

“What?”

He turned and was rewarded with another kiss. When they pulled away, Linhardt gave him a small smile.

“I do so enjoy making out with you in the street three houses down from ours after you tell me what latest scheme you want me involved in.”

Caspar reached out to toy with the long strands of Linhardt’s hair that fell over his shoulders and gave him a coy grin that was quite nearly out of place on his face.

“I love it when you’re romantic, Linny.”

\--

Despite it being early afternoon on a Saturday, no one was outside the house. Someone  _ had _ been, thought, since Linhardt had left this morning, because there were Halloween decorations that hadn’t been up previously. Considering the house he and Caspar shared with their six friends could politely be described as “ominous and haunted-looking,” they always went all out on Halloween. Halloween parties were always hosted here where everyone drank wine out of goblets and they put on Hubert’s old Bauhaus records.

Right now all that was strung up were black glitter bats and some fake, glow-in-the-dark cobwebs that went well with the very real cobwebs that stuck to the corners of the porch. Linhardt used his key to let himself in and was relatively surprised that he didn’t hear or see anyone about.

“Hello!” Caspar called.

Apparently he shared the same thought. Most of their roommates never ventured out before dark on Saturdays. Linhardt walked towards the kitchen where, on the table, was a note in Ferdinand’s recognizable, looping handwriting.

_ Everyone-- _

_ Went to the farmer’s market and then apple-picking! Petra is also with me--we’re making cider tonight! _

_ Regards, _

_ Ferdinand von Aegir _

“Well that explains two people,” Linhardt said. He didn’t know why Ferdinand didn’t just text their house group chat, but he was like that. He signed his texts, too.

Caspar had already lost interest in the empty house and was rummaging in the fridge. Everything in their fridge was clearly labeled and permission had to be asked before there was consumption. Certain items like milk or bread were up for grabs and anything surrendered was put out on the counter or table. Since they began dating, Caspar had gotten comfortable eating Linhardt’s food, but he always left him his favorite snacks and so he couldn’t begrudge him too much for it. And in any event, in return, Linhardt was welcome to anything of his. Currently, Caspar was stuffing strips of lunch meat in his mouth and then squirting in some mayo for good measure.

Linhardt stared at him, still holding Ferdinand’s note, and for a brief moment couldn’t believe that this was the man he had fallen in love with. He shook his head and put the note back on the table.

“Ferdinand and Petra are apple-picking. Not sure where everyone else. What’s your plan of attack, Detective von Bergliez?”

Caspar swallowed the mound of food he was chewing and had the nerve to shrug.

“I figure we just look around for any--”

“Clues?” Linhardt arched a brow.

“I don’t know! Maybe we can, like, just talk to Bernie.”

Caspar’s face fell a little. He wasn’t remotely the sneaky kind. He very much blundered into everything and wore his emotions on his sleeve. Everything he said was spoken matter-of-factly. It was his earnestness and honesty that drew Linhardt to him, even when it was too bald-faced. The first time they had sex, Caspar assured him he would be fine because, “Ashe and Raphael both had  _ huge _ cocks so I’m ready to take anything.”

“Sure,” he said.

“I don’t want to do underhanded shit. I’m just. I dunno. She’s my friend and with everything…”

It was the same as earlier and Caspar leaned into the still open fridge. Linhardt nodded.

“Right. So let’s talk to her first and then we can juvenilely snoop around.”

Caspar gave a grin and pushed some of his hair out of his eyes. “Okay.”

“Shut the fridge, though.”

“I was gonna.”

Linhardt gave a little smile of his own and reached out to take his hand again. That was something he didn’t expect to like so much. He didn’t often get the chance because Caspar was so exuberant that he beat him to it, but he enjoyed initiating affection. He liked taking hold of his hand or kissing him. It meant that he could.

Upstairs, they were confronted with an interesting sight: Bernadetta’s open door. In the two years Linhardt had lived here, he had never seen it open. Even in the rare times (more common now, but still infrequent) she was out of her room, the door remained closed.

“She’s not here,” Caspar said, stating the obvious.

Linhardt didn’t bother to call him on it, since he was surprised she wasn’t here. Almost as surprised as he was that they were the only occupants of the house. Ferdinand and Petra’s apple-picking aside, Hubert detested going out. As if wanting to help clue them in, his phone buzzed. He had had it on silent in the library but had switched it to vibrate once they had left. Caspar, who received the same notification, never bothered with niceties and his text tone blared out from his pocket. Linhardt opened it to find, predictably, a message to their group chat.

**(Dorothea):** _hey me and edie are at trader joe’s does anyone need anything?_

Two more people accounted for, but that didn’t explain why Bernie’s door was open. He saw Caspar was apparently typing and looked up. Sure enough, his boyfriend was probably sending a list of demands and a promise to send Dorothea money to cover it. He took the opportunity to put his phone back and wander a bit further down the hall. Their house was mostly converted bedrooms even though only the eight of them lived here and even before they were together, he and Caspar shared a room. Thus, the bedrooms were spread out and it wasn’t until he was nearly at the back staircase that led up to the seldom used third floor, did he hear strains of music coming from Hubert’s closed door. If he were to guess, he’d say that it was The Sisters of Mercy, but that meant that now everyone was accounted for  _ except _ the person they were looking for.

He turned back down the hallway where Caspar was craning his neck to peer into Bernadetta’s room without actually setting foot in there.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to read the needlepoint she left on the floor.” Caspar pointed. “It says ‘my beloved.’”

Right. Detective von Bergliez. Linhardt yawned a bit. Without Bernadetta actually here to talk to or figure out, this game was starting to get dull.

“Okay, so we’ve deduced there  _ is _ in fact someone she’s dating,” Linhardt said. “Now until we can be humans and ask Bernadetta ourselves...I’m going to take a nap.”

He didn’t get the chance to even head towards their bedroom because Caspar reached out and snagged his arm. Linhardt stared at his hand, closed around his sleeve, and then back at his face.

“What?” he asked irritably.

He  _ could _ have maybe once been able to wiggle his way out of his hold, especially if he wasn’t above wriggling out of his sweater entirely (which he wasn’t), but Caspar went to the gym four times a week. He might still be shorter than Linhardt was he was far stronger. So instead he was left to just ask  _ why _ his boyfriend was stopping him from napping. His plan with Bernadetta hinged on her being here since Caspar didn’t want to fall back into his teenage tendency to blunder into everyone’s business.

“You haven’t eaten today,” Caspar said simply.

At least part of Linhardt should have been annoyed that he so easily clocked him as not having eaten today. He had woken up, brushed his teeth because he wasn’t an animal, threw clothes on, and went to the library. He  _ could _ have had toast and jam from downstairs--especially considering the haul Dorothea had gotten from her favorite jam lady at the farmer’s market last Saturday--but he hadn’t. He had gotten very good at ignoring the churning of his stomach when he hadn’t put anything in it for too long and nearly gotten used to the dizzy spells and speckled vision he got from standing too fast due to his low iron. It wasn’t that he went out of his way not to eat, it just wasn’t normally high on his priorities.

These were all things Caspar knew and since he had long since established that Caspar knew him better than anyone, Linhardt couldn’t bring himself to be remotely annoyed.

“I don’t want to eat at that pasta place again,” he said instead of arguing. “Their portions are too big.”

“Are they?” Caspar cocked his head to the side.

“They’re  _ family _ portions.”

“Are they?”

Sometimes he wondered if he was having a go at him or if Caspar was actually this obtuse. As much as he loved his boyfriend, he loathed his table manners. He seemed to vacuum up food without even tasting it and the large portions of cheesy pasta at this particular restaurant were his favorite victims. He would devour his entire plate and then finish Linhardt’s for him. And then complain that all that cheese made his stomach hurt.

“We’re going to go to Dandelion and you’re going to have that flatbread salad you like.”

Caspar looked petulant for a fraction of a second before remembering that, yes, he  _ did _ like that flatbread salad. He nodded. Then, again, surprised Linhardt with a kiss on the lips.

\--

In the grand scheme of things, their college was relatively small. In a larger school, running into people he knew would be far more serendipitous or downright unlikely. At a school like Garreg Mach, privately owned and formally a liberal arts college (“like some  _ Secret History _ bacchanal bullshit,” Sylvain Gautier, who was in Linhardt and Bernadetta’s Romantics class would eloquently put), though it offered limited classes in the sciences, it was far more likely to not just see his housemates, but also others from his classes or strangely robust friend group.

Dandelion wasn’t on campus, so the odds were a bit more middling. The building itself was a converted one story painted a vibrant green with an outdoor seating area and one of those portable lending libraries built near its gravel driveway. Inside, the rooms of the house had been converted to dining space with the original kitchen serving as the kitchen. Linhardt didn’t fancy himself any sort of vegetarian, but he  _ liked _ their food. Caspar, renowned carnivore, surprisingly did as well. They placed their orders with the heavily pierced and tattooed girl at the main counter and moved into the first dining room to find a seat.

Linhardt always liked coming here. The energy of the place felt calming at times when the inside of his brain felt anything but. The first room was painted sky blue with blue, green, and purple scarves angled up towards the light in the center of the room. He knew it was dreadfully hipster, but he didn’t really care. As was often the case, since Dandelion catered to more than the vegan and vegetarian sect, he wasn’t surprised to see two of his housemates and a few others he knew sitting in this room. Petra and Ferdinand were sharing an order of falafel lettuce cups. At their feet were two reusable bags bursting with apples. Linhardt waved with one hand, the other holding their table number so the server would know where to bring their food.

“We got so many apples,” Petra said.

“I’m making cider,” Ferdinand supplied, as if Linhardt didn’t read his note. “And Petra’s making her grandfather’s recipe for mulled wine.”

“It uses star anise.”

They shared a smile that made Linhardt’s brow quirk. With all the talk about Bernadetta, the always underlying gossip was Ferdinand and Petra. They did the most couple-like things while, supposedly, not being a couple. Linhardt never wanted to go apple-picking but if Caspar suggested it, he probably would go along with him.

“By the by, have you noticed Bernadetta running off a lot?” Ferdinand asked. He reached back to grab a fistful of his long, wavy hair to bring over one shoulder.

That made Caspar’s eyes widen and he nodded. Linhardt’s own interest in the Bernadetta Saga was waning, but he continued to stand by him while his housemates gossiped.

“I saw her getting two people’s meals from the takeout place last night,” Petra added. “Usually she barely eats enough for one.”

It was hardly evidence, but Caspar nodded as though he were Hercule Poirot.

Linhardt found a table that was close enough to Ferdinand and Petra’s without being so close that Ferdinand would suggest that they put them together. Near them, he spotted Sylvain, which was funny considering he had just been thinking about him. He sat at a table with his boyfriend, Felix.

“Four point five percent alcohol,” Sylvain reported, reading off of the label of the bottle of beer he held. “That’s nothing.  _ I’m _ four point five percent alcohol!”

Felix rolled his eyes but was very clearly suppressing a grin as he picked apart his tempeh burrito and probably fantasized about the burger he was going to get after this.

“You didn’t have to pay for lunch,” Linhardt said.

“You can get dinner, then.”

He frowned. “If Edelgard and Dorothea are shopping, I think it’s someone’s turn to make dinner.”

“Not if Ferdinand and Petra are taking over the stove.”

Caspar had a point and he seemed to realize it, because he grinned broadly.

“Alright, fine.”

\--

By the time they got home, there was bedlam in the kitchen. Ferdinand and Petra obviously had beat them and home and had set up their cider and mulled wine extravaganza. The kitchen was hot and smelled warm and spicy. Their kitchen table (which, Hubert boasted, was once an autopsy table from a funeral home in the 1800s), was overladen with apples in various stages of being peeled in bowls. The counter space, though, was dominated by Edelgard and Dorothea’s haul from Trader Joe’s. It was all a very quaint snapshot of a millenial fall afternoon, but it was too much for Linhardt.

It didn’t help that someone had plugged their phone in and was blasting their house’s playlist. It was how they drew their eclectic tastes together was to make one, giant playlist containing everyone’s taste in music and then put it on shuffle so it was equally distributed and no one felt bad. It also meant that the music veered wildly from Lana Del Rey (Dorothea) to The Cure (Hubert and Bernadetta) to One Direction (Ferdinand).

“Wanna have a lie down?” Caspar asked.

From anyone else, particularly someone he was dating, Linhardt would assume that it was a come on. It was, probably, to some degree, but he also hadn’t had a nap all day and Caspar knew how easily these things got to him.

They ascended the stairs together and walked into their room. There was no great fanfare when they got together with regards to their bedroom. They already shared a room. All they had to do was sell their beds to college sophomores moving out of the dorms for the first time and use the money to get a queen-sized bed and mattress. It felt very domestic and it made Linhardt smile in a way that he hadn’t expected. Everything with Caspar was like that. It was as though their coming together was an eventuality rather than a surprise. Even if they were the annoying topic of gossip for weeks thereafter. He hadn’t liked the attention from their housemates or their greater group of friends and had spent nearly two weeks alternating between being holed up on the library’s sixth floor and ranting about what he read in those hours of solitude to Caspar later while his dear boyfriend tried his best to look interested.

Once they were safely ensconced in their room, Linhardt changed from his bulky sweater into a pair of pajama pants and one of Caspar’s sweatshirts. He could sleep anywhere, but there was something nice about putting on comfortable clothes and lying under a pile of blankets. Caspar seemed to share this notion since he had changed into loungewear as well.

Linhardt always liked lying with Caspar, even long before they got together. Those times in late high school where they blurred the line between friendship and courtship lying in bed, tracing each other’s bodies out with their hands. Caspar could hardly sit still but in moments like these, he always did. It took him until the summer, until the night in the hot tub, to realize he was doing it for him. It was the first time he realized something before Linhardt did. Everyone had been surprised when he and Ashe broke up at the end of June, but no one more than Linhardt until three weeks later, when on that too hot night.

He snuggled against Caspar’s chest, his head pillowed on his arm.

“What do you want for dinner, Lin?”

He groaned a bit. He had  _ just _ been basking in his boyfriend’s ability to read him and know him and now here he was, talking when Linhardt wanted to drift to sleep.

“Surprise me,” he murmured.

“Okay. What were you reading about today?”

Now he was at an impasse between complaining about not getting to sleep and wanting to tell him everything. Fortunately or unfortunately, their housemates made his decision for him. He and Caspar had made the mistake of leaving their door slightly ajar and now two people were outside of it. Linhardt rolled over, trying to see who the culprits were before they started talking. From the way the door was angled, he could see Bernadetta’s black and purple striped socks as well as the back of whatever oversized shirt she was wearing. What he couldn’t see was who she was talking to. There was the muted, smacking sound of kisses, then, and Linhardt felt Caspar sit up straight next to him.

“Shh,” Bernadetta hissed. “What if someone hears?”

“They’re all downstairs,” the second person spoke.

He both heard and felt Caspar take a sharp intake of breath.

“Hubert,” he hissed.

Linhardt reached out to delicately put a hand over his mouth so as to not give their position away.

“When are we going to tell them?” Bernadetta asked.

“When I feel like they won’t make a big deal about it. You remember how everyone tormented Linhardt and Caspar for weeks. I don’t want that.”

“M-me neither.” He could only see part of her but he was certain that Bernadetta shivered.

“And, besides, I like having you to myself. Beloved.”

Bernadetta let out a little giggle and then there were more kissing sounds. Linhardt wrinkled his nose. There was a fine line between eavesdropping and being voyeurs. Caspar seemed to agree because he leapt out of bed and threw their door the rest of the way open.

“A-ha!” he proclaimed.

Bernadetta looked like she was staring at a ghost and froze in Hubert’s arms. He, meanwhile, looked downright murderous.

“Keep. Your voice. Down,” he warned.

Linhardt reluctantly got out from under their duvet and shuffled in his socks over to the door. He had to do damage control before Hubert stabbed his boyfriend or something.

“Sorry,” he said. “Caspar was worried that whoever Bernadetta was seeing would be someone who would hurt her. All things considered, you aren’t terrible.”

It was the truth. Hubert was cold and mean, but rarely to Bernadetta. Oftentimes, he saw them swapping old mix CDs or pieces from their vinyl collections. Hmm. Maybe they should have thought of them as a viable couple before but, admittedly, it was strange thinking of Hubert as a person and not a weird vampire man.

“Your opinion doesn’t matter to me.”

“You knew I was seeing someone?” Bernadetta squeaked.

“I mean...we had our suspicions,” Linhardt said. “But if you don’t want people to know, we can keep quiet.”

Hubert looked at Caspar and then at him with a raised brow.

“I can keep quiet,” he amended.

“Hey!” Caspar cried, indignant.

Bernadetta, surprisingly, was the one to shake her head. “No. We may as well let everyone know. If Caspar knows, everyone will know.”

“Hey!”

She gave a squeak again but didn’t crumble.

“Alright,” Linhardt said. “Do you want to come downstairs and announce it, then? Petra’s making mulled wine.”

The two of them glanced at one another before Hubert nodded.

“Sure. I heard it has star anise.”


End file.
